


Idolatry

by mellish



Category: Death Note
Genre: Backstory, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-08
Updated: 2006-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-09 01:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellish/pseuds/mellish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amane Misa once liked pink. Now she won't even think twice about murder. Oneshot, written in 2005.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Idolatry

**Author's Note:**

> This story was reposted for [dn_contest](community.livejournal.com/dn_contest) week #15, Diary Entry.

Misa's fingernails were to be painted alternately in black, red, and silver. She only had ten fingers, of course, so she decided on painting both the thumb and pointer finger on her left hand black, because black was the best of the other two colors. As she tucked the bottle of nail polish between her toes and dipped the brush in, inhaling the somewhat toxic scent, she wondered when exactly pink had dropped the list as her favorite, and why her wardrobe of sugary dresses and frills (she _had_ been model for the Cutesy Tootsie line before) was suddenly full of black lace and red satin. But then the TV clicked on to her favorite music video, and she completely forgot her train of thought, standing, spilling the sable liquid all over the floor, and dancing as if no one was watching.

Because no one was, really.

\---

 

The lights were all out, and even though she squeezed her lids shut as tight as possible, she was still having trouble falling asleep. She felt sweaty all over, and restless. As if something were going to happen. She rolled over and clutched at her pillow, burying her face into it as if that would suddenly make her drowsy. It didn't work. Maybe she had forgotten to remove her make-up. That was it. She crawled out of bed, yawning as she scratched her knees from underneath the oversized shirt she was wearing. She slipped her feet into a pair of fuzzy slippers and made for the hallway quietly, trying not to wake her parents. Misa was a big girl now, and she could very easily start living on her own. But she really didn't want to spend for a flat when there were so many nice clothes and accessories to buy (and her parents always appreciated their baby being there, so stay she did).

The bathroom was down the hallway. How could she have forgotten to wash her face? Ugh, these photo shoots always left her tired. They didn't even pay her well enough for all the overtime she did. Misa gave a reflexive pout as she went on her way, a hand on the stair railing to guide her, since she didn't trust her drowsy movements. She paused before the bathroom door and yawned, then entered it sleepily. She didn't bother flicking on a light, thinking how annoying it would be to have to adjust her eyes to the brightness. As she felt along the glass shelves for the make-up remover and some cotton pads, something like a window breaking sounded outside.

The room closest to the bathroom was her parents'.

She had frozen momentarily, but at the sound of her mother's scream, she started to run.

\---

 

"Wow, dyed you hair a new color _again_?" She giggled as her friend stepped out from the taxi and waved her over.

"And I see you still haven't grown out of those baby pigtails." The purple-haired girl in front of her laughed too, and soon they were chatting up a storm, walking through the sunny streets of Aoyama.

They were going shopping.

They passed by a bookstore window displaying a poster-sized image of a magazine cover. Her own brightly made-up face beamed back at her, and a caption in red stated: _Amane Misa, the next big thing_! She felt a rush of pride, standing before the display. Her friend sighed.

"Misa, so many new ads…don't you want to take college more seriously?"

"And _you're_ one to ask me that! Hehe. Of course not! It's a waste of time!"

She stuck her tongue out playfully as they entered the novelty store nearby. She was looking for blank videotapes to try out the latest effects in her video camera, and some stuff to dress up her desk. "Ooh, crosses!" She studied the new arrivals against the antique wooden racks, biting her lip as she tried to make her choice. On the ledge closest to the floor there was a particularly interesting figure – something swathed in white robes lined with gold, looking extremely holy – except it was holding a scythe. And it had no face, only the antomical blankness of a skull. What was it called again? She had run across the word frequently in all those occult magazines she used to read.

Death? Something to do with death.

Amused, she crouched down, looking at the skeletal smile more closely. Now _that_ would be a good addition to her room decoration. As she made to pick it up, something caught her eye. There was a piece of dark paper wedged in between the bottom rack and the floor. She tugged at it, and it slid away into her hand. Eww, it was dusty! She swept off the accumulated filth and looked at it again. It wasn't a piece of paper, it was…a notebook. A very thin one, but it still had quite a few pages. Was this the cover? If it was, it was just a boring black. She turned it over. Ah, here! Something was written on this side…in English. The alien characters were etched on top in faded golden lettering.

Funny! She'd have to translate it at home to know what it meant, but it was intriguing all the same. Misa looked around uncertainly, then decided that it probably wasn't important enough for the shop owner to care about. It _had_ been lost under the racks, hadn't it? She stuffed it into her bag, and took up the skeleton dressed in white to clear all suspicion. She brought it over to the counter, where her friend was already paying for a pair of giant earrings in the shape of crossbones. "A figurine?"

She placed it on the counter and took out her purse, smiling serenely. "Yeah, for my desk. What are these skull-things called again?"

Her friend took her change and craned her head up as if trying to remember.

"Oh, I've got it!" She looked at the miniature statue again.

"They're called gods of death. Reapers."

\---

 

Misa was only starting out with her career – she was a model, and her magazine appearances were starting to be more frequent. What she really wanted to become, though, was an actress. Not a cheap TV one-timer, but a solid actress appreciated for her craft. Because Misa was _goooood_ at acting, and the rest of the world needed to know that. Sexy, sweet, kind, tearful…she could do it all.

"What genre would you do if you were able to star in any production of your choice?"

The magazine journalist grinned at her in a less-than-appealing way, but she needn't lose her cool – stalkers were frequent, admirers even more usual. She turned a lock of bright hair in her fingers coquettishly. "I'd like to try all. Everything."

"But if you could do just one?" He pressed, the drink in his breath making her want to gag.

"Oh, well…that'd be…" She pushed a thumb against her chin in a thoughtful manner.

"Horror." Her smile, normally angelic, was suddenly a picture of crazed bloodlust – but only for a moment. The man blinked, wondering what exactly he had seen. This was Misamisa, and his eyes were playing tricks on him because she was so goddamn cute. His doubt was cleared when she immediately added, "If not Love, or Love-Comedy, of course. Misa has long been looking for her prince charming…her 'knight', you know."

"Ah, but do you have any special person in mind?"

In the dim gloom of the café, she giggled and sipped her iced vanilla drink. This was kind of funny, but she wasn't sure why exactly.

"Any special person? Well, yes…I'm a big fan of Kira."

\---

 

There was a ripping sound – glass on the floor – blood on the bed – the moonlight streaming in through the curtains – the warm night air – sweat – screaming – struggling – Misa watched it all, a kaleidoscope of horror, a murder movie playing before her eyes. Mama and Papa were dying. Stabbed. Over and over. The glint of the knife, reflecting the moon's shimmer, was the most visible thing in the room. Tainted with red. Over and over. She could hardly think.

_Kill me too._

_Tackle him._

_That wouldn't do any good._

_Oh god, Misa doesn't deserve this, she doesn't…_

The man wore a hood, in his hand he grasped what looked like a bag…full of so many things that weren't his…that were _hers_, were her _parents'_…a thief! A robber! A murderer! She vaguely registered the fact that he was advancing towards her, the knife in his hand, so bright, so shiny, in this dismal room that was black with darkness and red with blood and silver with moonlight and with the death in his hand…it was death, but was light, too… it was coming for her.

She felt blind panic well up within her, unable to decide if she ought to run and save herself, or try to fight back, or just receive the knife and join her parents, or – or –

Could she do anything at all?

_Your smile can't save you now…_

Injustice. It wasn't fair. This man – this hateful – this robber – what could she do?

Nothing. She was gasping against the floor before she knew it, blood pooling around her.

For one crazy second, all she could think was

_death/gods of death/if I had that power/I would kill this man/make him pay/kill him/I'm going to die/everyone should/no one matters/ this world deserves to die/what it needs/someone fair_

_A new god/justice/a new world_

Then everything went blank, and Amane Misa thought she was dead.

\---

 

She had waited for so long on this trial – the testimonies, the scar she had to show (it was disgusting, but she might as well use it to her advantage before it fully healed), the proof of missing items, her stellar acting, crying whenever it seemed appropriate…

…only she _wasn't_ acting when she cried. Her tears were for real.

Especially now.

She had waited so long, and the verdict was: release. Not guilty. Unfair.

\---

 

Misa was kneeling on the floor in her room, which was at the moment a savage wreck. She had flung everything she could – everything she could grasp, she tore, she threw, she bit, she destroyed. The kitten figurines on her desk were smashed around her, the picture frames with Sanrio characters on them cracked. Her clothes were all over the floor…well, usually there was a stocking or some underwear left lying around, but this was the first time she had tipped _all_ the contents of her humongous wardrobe out. Most of the material was too hard to ruin properly…she would have to burn them, when she could. Sunny yellow, girly pink, bubble-gum baby blue – it all seemed so wrong.

Through the blur of her tears she saw her room for what it really was. A mess of childish dreams, immature fantasies, _cartoons_, nothing real, nothing true. All wrong. Trivial. This wasn't Misa. Her PS2 was backed against the wall…she hadn't touched that yet, she could sell it. The CDs, too…she tried to calm herself. Even the clothes. She could sell them. She could start anew. Leave this dream, find a reality…

_Revenge/truth/mercy/justice/sleep/peace/love/somewhere/anything_

She paused, heaving, rubbing a forearm across her eyes.

The sky outside was black. As she gazed at it, she had the faintest image of a skull splintering across her mind.

It seemed much cooler than pink and Hello Kitty.

\---

 

Tokyo Dome was bustling, the air around the stadium crackling with sound, life, cheers and hooting. In one of the rows closest to the game, Misa bit into her hotdog and sipped her soda, enjoying the feel of Hiro's arm around her shoulders, at the same time wondering if she should kill him later on. Unimportant, he was, but it would look bad to turn him down if he suddenly asked for them to go _steady_. Eww, no. She was way too cute for someone like Hiro. Who smoked and breathed down her neck all yucky, and wasn't even neat eating his hotdog. He cheered loudly as the game went on. _Yeah, yeah. Let's see you laughing when I'm through with you_.

Misa had a secret, and she wasn't going to tell.

Anyone. She could kill _anyone_.

Her handbag was ready at her side, as was her jelly pen – she could write down the name of anybody in the _world_, and they'd be dead in less than a minute. Simple, clean and convenient.

\---

 

After saying goodbye to her friend and giving one last remark about the hairdo ("What'll it be, _orange_, next time?"), Misa had sped home, eager to translate the writing on the notebook she had…er, taken. Eagerly, she opened her English dictionary – she hadn't touched it since junior high, it was a pain to remember how to use it – and scanned through all the foreign characters slowly, piecing the words together.

_D-E-A-T-H N-O-T-E._

She hadn't known then, what it could do. She studied it all around, checking all the pages for any clue of its previous owner, of what secret this notebook could contain. Nothing. She sighed. Well, it would make a good diary, at any rate. She opened it to the first page and wrote, as neatly as she could,

_5/22/05_

_Seto Tanaka bugged me again today, the stupid snob. I already told him I didn't want to date, but he still wouldn't leave me alone. I wish he would just drop dead. I met with Lala in Aoyama. That's her new nickname. Isn't it cute? We looked at stores. I bought a skull figurine, and found you, in the first store. I've got a photo shoot later. I'm hungry. And sleepy._

She paused, concluded that she had nothing else to write, closed it, debated between sleeping or eating, and decided on calling it a day.

She awoke the next morning to the incessant buzzing of her cellphone. When she checked, it had 12 text messages. All of them said the same thing.

_Hey Misa, did you know? Seto died of a heart attack! Freaky!!_

\---

 

She had been eating cornflakes and milk when the TV came on with the best news she had ever heard. The murderer of her parents was dead. He had collapsed in the middle of the street. A heart attack. She didn't know whether to smile or cry. Her pulse was quickening, beating like mad. Had nature dealt this justice? Was it something inhuman that she couldn't thank?

"This man has been accused of murder several times, and caught for robbery and brutal theft…" She concentrated on what the reporter was saying, his large, fishy lips blown-up on the screen.

"Authorities say it is once again the work of Kira."

_Kira._ Of course.

_He's real. He definitely exists._

\---

 

The first time she saw Remu was when she had left the game for a moment to head to the bathroom. What she really wanted to do was write in the Death Note, but she grinned sweetly as Hiro called over his shoulder, "Come back soon, baby, you'll miss the good parts!"

"Misa won't be gone long," she called back cheerily. _Sucker._

She entered the ladies' room and glanced around. Empty.

She ducked into a stall and opened her handbag.

Then something white – and freakishly _wrong_ \- appeared in front of her.

She screamed, until it closed its fingers around her mouth. She managed to calm herself down. She'd seen worse, whatever this was. It was. He was? She pulled at the giant hand, and the creature reluctantly let her go. She eyed it squarely, sizing it up. It didn't seem to want to hurt her.

"Can you speak? What are you?"

The full lips, the slit eyes, the strange hair that looked like slugs…but it could understand, and it answered.

"My name is Remu. I am a reaper."

\---

 

Misa knelt down on the floor in her new Tokyo home. It was very stylish. She had saved up enough (from selling all her old things, of course,) to get a good flat and all the decorations to go with it. A cool new laptop too. And stickers! She couldn't do without stickers. Remu swayed by her side uncertainly. It seemed to be staring at the top of her CD shelf and at the side of the TV alternately, where Misa had carefully arranged the skulls, crosses, golden treasure boxes, and figures she had bought. The reaper in white robes had a prominent place – smack in the center of the shelf. That was what seemed to be bothering Remu most. "Misa…" It began, uncertain.

"What's wrong, Remu?"

"That looks kind of like an altar. A…shrine."

Misa shrugged. "Maybe it is."

"A shrine of skulls, though?"

She grinned. "Why not? I could make my own. Out of real skulls. Real deaths."

Remu nodded, acknowledging that. "But that reaper…do you worship reapers?"

At this the young girl smiled fiercely.

"No, of course not," she giggled. "You should know by now. My only god is Kira."

**Author's Note:**

> References for the story:
> 
> Ch.26, p.18 - You see a snapshot of Misa's room – the white reaper figurine that I made her buy in the story is above the CD rack.
> 
> Ch.27, pp.10-14 - It said that a stalker tried to kill Misa, and it included nothing about her parents, so the incident with the robbery could've happened another time.
> 
> Ch.27, p.18 - 22nd: Met with friend in Aoyama and exchanged notes. 30th: Saw god of death at the Giants game in Tokyo Dome.
> 
> Ch.29, p.19 - Misa: One year ago, my parents were killed by robbers right in front of my eyes. I wanted to kill them, but I couldn't. I didn't know what to do…the trial lasted a long time, but they were eventually released at the end. Then, Kira avenged the murderer of my parents for me. For me, Kira definitely exists.


End file.
